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CAMEL BELLS 

A BOY OF BAGHDAD 


BY 

ANNA RATZESBERGER/ 
\> 

AUTHOR OF 

ALI HASSAN OF HAMADAN 



PICTURES BY 


JUNIOR PRESS BOOKS 


albertXwitman 

^ 4 CO 


CHICAGO 

1935 



3 - -V 





THE CALL TO PRAYER 
(Arabic script) 




CxLW*J 


U' 





MOV 111935 > 


i \ 

COPYRIGHT, 1935 , BY ALBERT WHITMAN & COMPANY 


LITHOGRAPHED IN THE U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 

Boat Ride on the Tigris .... 5 

In the Copper Bazaar .... 13 

The Forgotten Errand . . . . 31 

Nazar’s New Master.43 

The Green Spot.60 

Nazar the Shepherd.69 






Nazar started away with his father 









BOAT RIDE ON THE TIGRIS 



UNRISE and a high, clear voice singing the call to 
prayer from a nearby minaret: 


“Allah is great; there is no God but Allah; 
Mohammed is His prophet. 


Come to prayer; come to prayer. 

Prayer is better than sleep. 

Allah is great; there is no God but Allah: 
Mohammed is His prophet. 

Come to prayer; come to prayer.” 


5 









Nazar (pronounced Na-zar) stirred uneasily on his 
mattress. On the roofs of neighboring houses men were 
rousing themselves to join in the song of prayer: 

La Allah illal'liha Mohammed Rassoulallah 
In this district of poor mud houses along the east bank 
of the river Tigris lived Nazar ibn Nouri (that is, Nazar, 
the son of Nouri). Seven years before, he had been born 
amid great rejoicing of the women of the home, for he was 
the only man-child in a family of eight children. Three 
sisters had died while they were still babies, but the four 
other girls had been strong enough to survive the hard¬ 
ships of poverty, disease and filth. 

“Nazar! Nazar! Sleepyhead! Wake up and come down 
to the street. Habib is here to play with you,” his sister 
Fatima called to him from the court. 


School bells never rang for Nazar. Indeed, the only bells 
one ever heard in the streets of Baghdad were those of the 
camel and donkey. But Nazar was too poor to go to 
school, even to the crude little religious schools which years 
later were to be replaced by government schools. So his 
days were spent in play along the river or in mischief in the 
street. 

The sun shone so hot on the boy’s mattress on the roof 
that he became uncomfortable. Remembering his sister’s 
words, he stood up, stretched himself and nimbly climbed 
down the steep steps of the outside stone stairway to the 
ground floor. Night clothes and day clothes were the same 
to him. He simply tightened the belt of his loose blouse, 
straightened his little skullcap and was ready for the day. 

Habib was waiting at the door. 

“Salaam (greetings),” he said. “Shall we play by the 
river? Let’s make a boat today.” 




Nazar gulped his tea rapidly, tore off a strip of thin, 
coarse bread and finished his breakfast in the street. 

“See what I found!” Habib continued. “This old bas¬ 
ket, two strips of iron, and some pieces of wood. Mash' 
allah (May God will it)! We can make a fine boat.” 

It was but a few steps to the water’s edge. Nazar and 
Habib were soon busy bending and twisting the strips of 
iron. Skillfully they bound the many pieces of wood to 
the large, round, shallow basket. It was hard work for 
young fingers, but the boys worked eagerly at their play¬ 
thing. 

Finally the battered old basket became a boat, or 
rather a crude, round raft. Carefully pushing it into 
deeper water, the boys saw with pride that it floated calmly 
on the surface. Then they climbed on very carefully 
so that they would not upset the awkward little boat. As 
master of the craft, Habib held the paddle and guided the 
raft as it floated with the current. 

They were floating along very smoothly with a distant 
herd of water buffaloes as their goal when a motorboat 
from the opposite shore began to point its nose directly 
across their course. 




A motorboat began to point its nose directly across their course 




“Quick, Habib! Paddle faster!” Nazar screamed. “We 
must get out of the way of that big boat.” 

Habib did paddle faster. But his raft had not been 
made for accurate guiding and he could not turn it quickly 
enough out of the path of the oncoming motorboat. In a 
moment it was upon them. It did not actually strike the 
boys. But the frail little raft was caught in the swell and 
overturned, boys and all. Nazar and Habib thrashed about 
in the water, got their bearings, and then began to swim 
toward the shore. 

Like every other boy who spent much time along the 
Tigris river, these lads were good swimmers. From the 
time they were scarcely more than babies, they had played 
on homemade rafts and on the water buffaloes that rolled 
and basked in the shallower water. So many times had 
they fallen off into the water that they began to swim with¬ 
out actually seeming to learn. 

Tired and breathing hard, the two boys reached shallow 
water, waded through the thick mud and climbed up the 
bank. The blazing midday sun soon dried their garments. 

“Habib, we forgot the raft. It is still in midstream.” 


10 



“Can you see it, Nazar? I can’t. How can we get it?” 

“I don’t know. I’m afraid it is lost. Or, maybe another 
boat has struck it and broken it to pieces.” 

“Dirt on my head! That is a great misfortune and sor¬ 
row. It was hard work to make that raft, and I hunted 
for a long time to find enough wood for it.” 

“That doesn’t matter, Habib. We can find more wood 
and make another raft some day.” 

Nazar, however, never made another raft. That night 
the family were all seated on the floor eating their supper 
of barley bread, cheese, olives, and mast (thick sour 
milk) when Nouri, the father, announced his plans for 
Nazar’s future. 

“Nazar, how would you like to be a coppersmith when 
you are big? I am only a hamal (a porter). All I can do 
is to carry heavy burdens on my back. And that is very 
hard work with little pay. You see how poor our home is, 
and it can never be any better. Your sisters cannot have 
much of a wedding dowry and you cannot have an educa¬ 
tion in the school. But if you learn to be a coppersmith, 
your life might be easier than mine.” 


11 


“As you wish,” replied Nazar dutifully. He was think¬ 
ing of the new raft he had meant to make. If he became an 
apprentice in the copper bazaar, there would be no more 
playtime for him. 

“Nazar, you lucky boy!” one of the girls cried out in 
delight. “We have to stay in the house all day and see no 
one. But you can spend the day in the bazaar. You will 
see hundreds of people and hear all the gossip. I wish I 
were a boy.” 

“As you wish,” Nazar again murmured. But he had de¬ 
cided that there might be some fun, after all, in the copper 
bazaar. 

In the dusk Nazar and his sisters sat on the floor and 
listened to their father tell of his day’s work—the beauti¬ 
ful table and chairs he had carried on his back to the home 
of a British army officer, the large Persian rug he had car¬ 
ried from a caravanserai to the rug bazaar, the accident he 
had seen when two carriages locked wheels and the drivers 
had a fight. His was a life of color and excitement. 

“Nouri,” the mother spoke softly, “our little copper¬ 
smith has gone to sleep. You must carry him up the stairs 
to the roof and lay him on his mattress.” 



12 



IN THE COPPER BAZAAR 


The call to morning prayer was sounding in his ears 
when Nazar felt someone shaking him. 

“Wake up, Nazar! Wake up, coppersmith!” Nazar 
blinked hard, looked dully at his sister, and finally remem¬ 
bered that he was to begin work in the copper bazaar that 
day. Then he became suddenly awake, alive, excited. 

“Oh, yes! Today I am going to hammer pots and pans 
and water jugs. Fatima, I think I shall be able to pound as 
loudly as the big men,” Nazar told his sister. She was al¬ 
ready rolling the bedding into a bundle to place with the 
other mattress rolls in the center of the roof. Nazar 
smoothed his loose cotton blouse, straightened his skull¬ 
cap, and climbed downstairs. 


13 




“Salaam,” he said respectfully to his father and mother 
and sisters who were already eating. Breakfast was a sim¬ 
ple meal of coarse barley bread and strong tea or coffee, 
and was soon finished. Esmat, the mother, folded some 
bread and dates in a square of cotton cloth, tied the op¬ 
posite corners together, and gave the little bundle to 
Nazar. 

“This is your lunch,” she said. “Your father can come 
home for his noon meal, but you must stay at the copper 
shop all day. Now be careful and don’t let anyone steal 
it.” 

Nazar hooked his finger under the knotted cloth and 
started away with his father. Far down the street he saw 
Habib. 

Nazar said to his father, “He is going to play with the 
water buffaloes, but I am going to be a coppersmith.” And 
over and again he said to himself, “I am going to be a cop¬ 
persmith.” 


14 





They entered the covered bazaar. Men were rolling up 
the iron shutters of their shop fronts and hanging out 
their wares. Donkey boys were prodding their little gray 
beasts, urging them to hurry with their loads of fresh mer¬ 
chandise for a busy shopkeeper. Scribes were settling them¬ 
selves on a convenient rock or hole in the wall and 
spreading out their writing materials, eager for the first 
customer. 

Nazar quickened his steps as he heard the noisy clang¬ 
ing of the hammers. Nouri led him down the Alley of the 
Coppersmiths and stopped before a dark little shop where 
a sharp-eyed, burly fellow stood expectantly waiting. 

“Is this the boy, Nouri?” he asked, looking closely at 
the timid Nazar. “He seems very young.” 

“Young, perhaps, but strong as a buffalo,” replied 
Nouri proudly. “He will be a good worker.” Turning to 
his son he said kindly, “Work hard, Nazar, and please your 
master. I will come for you at sunset.” 


15 




Nazar stood for a moment and watched his father dis¬ 
appear around a bend in the alley. Then he turned 
to look about him. 

One side of the shop was entirely open to the street. 
The side walls were hung with an array of copperware 
ready for sale—water jugs, pitchers, basins and bowls 
gleaming red against the smoke-blackened walls. At the 
back of the room was a monster furnace and near it the 
bellows. On the floor lay pieces of copper, unfinished jars 
and pots, hammers, tongs, and a pile of fuel. 

“Nazar, you are to tend the fire and pump the bellows 
today,” Hamad, his master, explained and showed him 
just how he should handle the great, awkward bellows. 
Nazar really wanted to hammer neat little dents in a beau¬ 
tiful basin, but he was afraid of this strange man. So he 
mumbled only a polite ala rasi (Yes, on my 

head)!” and looked at the fire which Hamad was beginning 
to kindle in the furnace. 




16 





‘ ‘Nazar, you ate to tend the fine and pump the bellows today 


17 






“Step lively, boy! Now the bellows!” Hamad was a 
hard worker and wasted no time. He intended to keep his 
apprentice busy. 

Nazar had been looking for a place to put his lunch. 
A small hole between the bricks in the wall seemed to be 
just the spot. He drew the little cloth-covered parcel out 
of his shirt and poked it into the wall. Then he set to work. 
All morning he stood by the fire, adding fuel and pump¬ 
ing the heavy hide bellows. Once he stopped to rest and 
Hamad boxed his ears soundly. 

“No idleness here!” he cried, “That is the reason I let 
the other boy go. If you expect to be a good coppersmith, 
you must work hard. Only women and old men sit around.” 

Nazar was never caught idle again, but many times 
that day he thought of Habib who was playing along the 
river. 

At noon Hamad laid down his hammer and spoke more 
kindly to the boy. 


18 




“Take this coin,” he said, “and bring me some coffee 
and a hot squash sandwich. Then you may eat your lunch 
and rest for a few minutes.” 

Nazar darted away and mingled with the crowd in the 
bazaar street. At the coffee shop he lingered for a mo¬ 
ment and listened to some men talking. One of them wore 
a long, loose brown robe, an aba. On his head was a loose 
cotton scarf with a thick cord coiled around it. 

“He is a shei\h (an Arab chief) from the desert,” 
thought Nazar. “He has probably brought some sheep to 
sell. I think I should like to live on the desert and tend 
sheep. At least, there would be no one around to box my 
ears.” 

That reminded him of his errand. He bought the food 
and carried it back to Hamad, who was standing in an¬ 
other shop talking to a fellow worker. Hamad took the 
coffee and vegetable sandwich, and Nazar went back for 
his own lunch. He reached for the cotton bundle. It was 
not there. On the floor lay the cloth, but the food was 




“Who has taken my food?” cried the lad and he ran to 
Hamad with the empty cloth. “See! It is gone, all gone, 
and I have nothing to eat. Someone has stolen it.” 

“Where did you leave it, boy?” inquired Hamad. 

“In the little hole in the wall,” Nazar answered, begin¬ 
ning to cry. 

“Ho! Ho! Anyone could see it there. Don’t you know 
the bazaar is full of thieves? Someone probably took it 
while I was talking to my friend here. Never mind! I will 
give you a pice (less than half a cent) of your wages now 
and you can buy some bread at the coffee shop.” 

The boy thanked him and decided his master was 
not so bad, after all. When he had finished his lunch, 
Hamad pointed to an unfinished pitcher that hung on 
the wall. 

“Next time,” he said, “put your lunch in this. It will 
be quite safe. But you must be careful that no one sees 
you putting it there. The beggars around here would al¬ 
most steal your shirt. Don’t trust any one. Now, build 
up the fire and let us get to work again.” 


20 





“Ho! Ho! Anyone could see it there” 


21 




And so the day passed for Nazar. The smoke hurt 
his eyes and throat, the clanging of the hammer hurt his 
ears, and pumping the heavy bellows made his back ache. 
At sunset he stopped. Hamad gave him another coin and 
he ran to meet his father. 

Sitting in the dusk after the evening meal, his sisters 
eagerly questioned him. Did he see many people? What 
did they say to him? Who was his master? What was he 
like? When he went to bed that night, he decided that it 
was better to be a boy and work hard than to be a girl and 
have no excitement. 

As the weeks passed, he became more skillful and the 
work became easier. Hamad never boxed his ears again; 
he even gave the boy an extra pice now and then. And grad¬ 
ually Nazar learned to know some of the other boys who 
worked in the bazaar, boys like himself who were appren¬ 
ticed to the coppersmiths. 


22 



One day just before the noon hour Nazar glanced up 
from the furnace to see some foreigners—two men and an 
unveiled woman in a white dress—watching him and his 
master. He stopped and smiled at them. Hamad, how¬ 
ever continued pounding a small, graceful bowl that was 
nearly finished. 

“What a beautiful bowl!” said the woman. “I should 
like to have it for my flowers.” One of the men asked the 
price. 

“Four rupees Hamad answered and held it out to 
them. (One rupee is 36 cents.) „ , . 

“Four rupees! Oh, no! Make it one rupee, the foreigner 

said. 

Nazar smiled. He knew the bowl was worth less than a 
rupee, but that was the way one bargained in Baghdad. 

Hamad considered. “Three rupees he said, “because 
you will have to wait a few minutes while I finish it. 


23 



“No,” said the foreigner, shaking his head, “I cannot 
pay more than two rupees. We will look elsewhere.” 

“Just a minute, sahib (master),” cried Hamad 
eagerly. “You may have the bowl for two rupees, 
but it really is worth much more.” Hamad finished 
pounding the surface and gave the bowl to Nazar, who 
polished it on his shirt and presented it to the foreign 
woman with a smile. 

“It is yours. May you be blessed in it,” he said politely 
and waited expectantly while the foreigner counted out 
the pieces of silver. As they turned to go, he spoke up 
piteously. 

“A little present for me, mem'sahib (lady). Won’t 
you give me a little present? I work very hard and receive 
so little. Just a little present, please.” 

Yes, put in Hamad, “the boy deserves a present. He 
helped make the bowl.” 


24 




The foreign woman slipped a silver coin into his hand 
and then hurried away, probably glad to get away from 
the noise and smoke and copper fumes. Nazar thanked 
her and continued calling after her until she was out of 
sight. 

“May your hand never pain you! May your shadow 
never grow less! May Allah be good to you and always 
protect you.” 

Then he looked in his hand. An anna (two and 
one-half cents)! A whole silver anna! As much as 
he earned in a day! How rich the foreign woman must be! 

It was the noon hour. He hastened to get Hamad’s cof¬ 
fee and then hunted up his own friends. Together they 
ate their bread and olives, while he told them of the visit 
of the foreigners. 

“See! Here it is!” He held out the com, and each boy 
touched it and looked at it. 


25 





“They must be very rich, those foreigners,” murmured 
one boy. 

“Yes,” answered Nazar, “they were very rich. They 
paid two rupees for that bowl. The men had money and 
the woman had money. And I think she had another anna 
in her hand.” 

Nazar could scarcely wait until evening to tell the fam¬ 
ily of his good fortune. His favorite sister, Fatima, was 
not at the gate to meet him. The oldest sister met him and 
told him the news. Fatima and two other sisters were ill. 
Nazar wanted to rush in and give dear Fatima his coin. 
It might make her well, he thought. 

Nouri, the father, was worried. 

“Did you go to the mullah (priest)?” he asked the 
mother. 

“Yes, yes!” Esmat replied. “I went to the mullah and 
told him my three girls had a rash on their necks and had 
fever. He wrote three prayers with purple ink. Then I 
dipped each prayer in a cup of water and bade the girls 
drink it. The water was a beautiful purple and the prayer 
was very holy. It should make them well soon, insh’allah 
(if God wills it)!” 


26 



Next morning the girls had more fever and the rash had 
spread in great ugly spots and covered many of the strange 
tattooed designs on their bodies. Nazar went to work with 
a sad heart. At noon he went to the big Friday Mosque and 
offered the mullah his anna if he would write a prayer 
that would make Fatima well again. 

The mullah wrote a long prayer for this sum and 
Nazar guarded it closely all afternoon. When he reached 
home, he hurried to his mother with the prayer. But she 
too was ill and was in the darkened room with the three 
girls. 

“Sister, what is the matter?” Nazar asked fearfully. “Is 
everyone going to be ill? Isn’t Fatima better? See this 
prayer. I gave the mullah a whole anna to write a 
prayer for Fatima.” 

His sister shook her head. “Fatima has more fever. I 
don’t think she will get well. The neighbors say it is the 
plague and they won’t come near. They are afraid that 
they too will get it. You must not stay here tonight. Per¬ 
haps you can find a sheltered corner in the street where 
you can sleep. But it would not be safe for you, if we 
have the plague.” 


27 



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There he ate his supper 


28 



Nazar gathered up a handful of olives, some cheese, 
and a large piece of bread. 

“Don’t forget the prayer,” he said, and went out the 
gate. He knew just the place along the river where he could 
sleep. It was a little protected corner formed by two high 
garden walls. He and Habib had often played there and 
sometimes found an old sack or pile of rags that someone 
had thrown away. 

So he went down to the river. There he ate his supper 
and played a while in the water. But his day’s work had 
been hard and he soon grew tired. Having found the lit¬ 
tle corner, he huddled down on a sack and went to sleep. 

For many days and nights he lived in this way work¬ 
ing in the bazaar, sleeping near the river, and seeing 
nothing of his family or neighbors. Then, one day it was 
Friday and the bazaar was closed—he went home. The 
elder sister came to the gate. 


29 




“Come in,” she said. “May God will it, you are still safe. 
But the others, they are gone. It was the plague. Only 
Fatima is left. She will get well.” 

“The prayer!” thought Nazar with a full heart. “Praise 
be to Allah, the prayer saved her.” 

“With father and mother both gone,” the elder sister 
continued, “we cannot stay here any longer. As soon as 
Fatima is well again, we must leave. When it is certain 
that we are free of the plague, Fatima and I can perhaps 
enter some large household as servants. But you, my poor 
little Nazar, what will become of you?” 

“Oh, I can take care of myself,” Nazar spoke up stoutly. 
“I can work each day and sleep by the river. And when I 
am a little bigger, I will take care of you and Fatima.” 

The girl knew that in a few months she was to marry 
Hossein, who was trying hard to earn money for the new 
home. In the meantime, she and Fatima could work as 
household servants. But what was to become of Nazar? 
His father and mother were gone, and in a short time 
even the home would be gone too. 



30 




Ill 

THE FORGOTTEN ERRAND 

Winter had come to Baghdad, but it never became cold. 
Instead of being unbearably hot, the days were now pleas¬ 
antly warm. The nights were cooler and Nazar slept in¬ 
doors on the hard, bare floor with only a dirty cotton quilt 
for bed and covering. Fatima was well again and able to 
play with Nazar when he had a Friday holiday. 

“This is our last day together,” she reminded him. “We 
are lucky, sister and I. We are both going to work in the 
big house of Sheikh Hassan. I am to tend the baby, and 
sister is to be the sewing woman. And we are to wear san¬ 
dals. We bought them yesterday. It seems very strange 
to wear anything on my feet; but this is a fine house and 
the mistress said we must wear sandals.” 


31 


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Nazar took the sandals and examined them curiously 

\ 


32 








Nazar took the sandals and examined them curiously 
—the narrow straps that crossed by the big toe and joined 
the ankle strap, the fine hand-stitching, the smoothness of 
the leather. 

“Some day, when I am big, I shall wear sandals too,” 
he boasted. “And now I am going to take father’s rope 
and shoulder pad and pretend I am a hamal (porter). I’ll 
carry that empty water jug on my back for a while.” 

Now Nazar had been trained to be a coppersmith and 
not a hamal. He neither fastened the rope securely around 
the jar, nor set the shoulder pad properly on his back. 
He had taken scarcely a dozen steps when the jar slipped 
and crashed on the ground. Frightened by what he had 
done, he was about to run out the gate when his older sis¬ 
ter called to him. 


33 




“Nazar! Nazar! Come back! It doesn’t matter,” she 
said. “We are leaving tomorrow and we shall not need the 
water jug. Come closer; I want to tell you something 
softly. Yes, now listen! When we go to the big house 
tomorrow, there will no longer be a home for you. But I 
have thought of a scheme. After nightfall you are to 
come to the little gate at the far end of the garden. I will 
let you in and you can sleep in that old, empty room by the 
street wall. Then I will let you out very early in the 
morning and no one will ever know you have been there.” 

“All right,” Nazar agreed. “That will be fine. But now 
I am going in the street to play with some boys. They are 
waiting for me.” 


34 


‘Come closer; I want to tell you something softly’ 




The boys, older than Nazar, were hamals. Though it 
was Friday—the day of rest—they had been loitering in 
the street, hoping that someone would call them to carry 
a load. But the streets were almost deserted; so they be¬ 
gan to play. They set their palm leaf baskets and ropes 
against the street wall and began to play “knuckle-bones.” 
These bones were the small, irregular, six-sided bones in 
the sheep’s leg, and were tossed and played much like the 
Western game of matching pennies. The game itself was 
hundreds of years old. 

At one city to the south of Baghdad, a foreigner had 
dug up some of these bones which had been drilled on 
one side and weighted with metal. Even as long ago as 
200 B. C., the boys of that country had been gambling with 
knuckle-bones. 


36 


When they became tired of tossing bones, they had a 
stone-throwing contest. One boy always threw the stone 
much farther than the others. He even laughed at Nazar 
for being so clumsy. 

“But, Abdullah, how do you do it?” Nazar asked in some 
anger. “I may not be as big as you, but I am as strong. 
I know I am a better swimmer. Then why can’t I throw 
a stone as well?” 

“Do you want me to show you?” Abdullah offered. 
“Just like this! Swing your arm like this. So! Now try 
again.” 

Nazar tried again and again. Finally he could throw 
the stone almost as far as Abdullah. 



37 




“Mobara\ (Luck to you)! God give you strength!” the 
others shouted excitedly as they watched him. He was 
such a little fellow that these bigs boys enjoyed showing 
him their greater skill. Afterwards, whenever these same 
boys met him in the bazaar or on the streets, they always 
challenged him to a contest of stone-throwing. 

Besides the hamals, Nazar had friends among the don¬ 
key boys. One day Hamad, his master, sent him on an 
errand in another part of the city. On the way he passed 
a garden where part of the street wall had been torn 
down. Donkeys were carrying loads of brick, mortar and 
stone into the garden where workmen were building a 
house. 

“What fun!” thought Nazar. “I shall watch them a few 
minutes.” 

One, two, three, four, five. Donkey after donkey turned 
in from the street with its load. Then no more came. Two 
carriages had been coming rapidly from opposite direc¬ 
tions. The last donkey in the street became bewildered 
and started across the path of the oncoming arabana 
(carriage). Turning his horses suddenly to avoid striking 
the animal, the driver locked wheels with the other 
arabana. 


38 



Donkey after donkey turned in from the street with its load 





The frightened donkey began to bray and nearly 
knocked over a turbaned mullah who had been walking 
in the street. The enraged priest caught the donkey boy 
and slapped him soundly for his carelessness. When the 
carriages finally drove away, the boy took a metal goad, 
which had been hidden in his hand, and prodded the 
donkey near its tail. He wanted to get into the garden in 
a hurry after all the trouble he had had. 

However, someone had seen the sharp little goad and 
had watched him hurt the donkey. It was a foreign 
woman who had been passing. She seized the luckless 
boy by the ear, demanded the goad, and jabbed him 
several times before he in his surprise could get away. 
Then she went on. The boy came out of his hiding place, 
picked up a sharp stick and beat the donkey to ease his 
own feelings. 

“Those foreigners!” he muttered. “What business is 
it of theirs? I was in a hurry, and that was the only way 
to make an animal move faster. What does it matter, 
anyway? A donkey hasn’t any feelings.” 


40 


f Nazar had seen the whole incident. Pressed close 
against the street wall, he had seen the look in the don¬ 
key’s eyes when the boy had jabbed it. 

“If the goad hurt the boy,” he was thinking, “why 
wouldn’t it hurt the donkey, too?” He had never thought 
of that before. Then he remembered something. 

“Wasn’t that the mem'sahib who gave me the anna 
last summer? I’ll just follow a little way and see where 
she goes.” 

He had completely forgotten his errand. He was think¬ 
ing only of the kind woman who had given him some 
money—the very money with which he had bought Fa¬ 
tima’s prayer. Perhaps she would speak to him and he 
could thank her again for the money, for saving dear 
Fatima’s life. 

Through street after street he followed, dodging 
donkeys, arabanas, camels and motor cars, but always 
keeping the foreign woman in sight. Then she turned in¬ 
to the avenue Sinak, and without having even noticed 
Nazar, passed through a beautiful gate and was gone. 



41 









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Hamad was in an ugly temper when Nazar returned 


42 









IV 

NAZAR’S NEW MASTER 

Hamad was in an ugly temper when Nazar returned. 

“Two hours you have been gone,” he bellowed, and 
struck Nazar on the head. “Two hours! and it should have 
been only a few minutes. When you finish your work to¬ 
night, you are done. Do you understand? Done! Done! 
I want you no more!” 




43 



Nazar was frightened. He knew that he had wasted 
the master’s time. But he was only a little boy and he still 
liked to play. It had been exciting to watch the donkeys, 
and he had wanted so much to see the kind, foreign 
woman again. This was the first time he had ever played 
during work hours, and he was being punished for it by 
losing his job. 

When the elder sister opened the little gate that night, 
she saw that something troubled him. 

“Nazar, what is it? What is the trouble?” she asked. 

Then he told her how he had spent the afternoon fol¬ 
lowing the foreign lady to thank her again and how angry 
Hamad had been when he returned to the shop. 

Nazar did not worry long, however, over the loss of his 
job. Next morning he took his father’s palm leaf basket 
and determined to work as a hamal for a few days. 


44 




Like the other boys, he followed first one shopper and 
then another, hoping to be allowed to carry the purchases. 
Sometimes a dozen boys followed the same person and dis¬ 
played their brightest smiles as they begged for work. 
Once Nazar carried a basketful of food for a hotel cook. 
The man lived a long distance from the chief bazaar, but 
he gave the boy only a pice for his work. When Nazar 
complained of the small pay, the man gave him a kick. 

“If the pice was not enough, I’ll give you a kick. How 
is that for a fine bargain?” he said, and laughed at his own 
joke. Nazar picked himself up, shook the dust from his 
clothes, and went away without answering. 

Returning to the bazaar, the lad had to pass the great 
Friday Mosque. He always felt a thrill of pleasure when 
he looked up at the beautiful dome with the delicate cres¬ 
cent above it. Near the entrance was the old man who 
always squatted beside his tray of sweets and nuts. 



45 





Nazar looked over the array of dainties—dates, figs, 
raisins, nuts, squash seeds, even some brittle molasses 
candy. He bought a handful of dates and talked to the 
old man as he ate them. While he was standing there, a 
man came out of the mosque and stopped to buy some figs. 
He was a shei\h of the desert and wore the loose, brown 
robe and headdress like the man Nazar had seen in the 
coffee shop. 

“Master, have you some work that I may do?” Nazar 
asked eagerly. “I am strong; I can run errands quickly.” 
Then he remembered the errand on which he had loitered, 
and flushed with shame. 

The shei\h, who was known as Khali f ibn Kathim, saw 
the flush and thought the boy was embarrassed—new at 
the work perhaps, and a little shy. Soon he was asking 
Nazar about himself, and the lad told him how both his 
father and mother had died of the plague, how he was now 
homeless and had no work. Khalif ibn Kathim listened 
and then spoke kindly. 


46 




/ 





He was a 


sheikh of the desert 


47 










“I can use another shepherd boy,” he said. “Will you 
come with me and make your home in my tents on the 
desert?” 

“T^a'am, ya sahib (Yes, on my head)! Yes, I should like 
to!” Nazar replied. “But I must get the permission of 
my elder sister.” 

It is an unwritten law of the desert that an orphan 
may be taken in to the nearest big tent and set to work 
tending sheep. Khalif had had several orphan boys work¬ 
ing for him. For their labor, he gave them their food, 
shelter, very scanty clothing, and a few sheep each year. 
When these boys reached manhood, they were put on 
the land. They exchanged some of their owp sheep for 
cows and donkeys, saved enough to buy a wife and tent, 
and became part of the great family of the big tenter. 


48 


Nazar was in luck to come under the protection of the 
shei\h. When it was quite dark that night, he led Khalif 
to the little gate where his sister waited. Opening the 
gate, she saw a strange man and quickly pulled the veil 
across her face. 

“Peace be to you!” Khalif spoke in low tones, for Nazar 
had warned him that the owner did not know of his using 
the little gate. “I am Khalif ibn Kathim. My tents and 
my flocks are on the Green Spot which is three days’ 
journey northwest of the city. Tomorrow at sunset I shall 
return to them. The boy Nazar has told me how he is with¬ 
out home or parents and I have offered to take him into my 
tent as a shepherd. Are you willing that he should go 
with me?” 




The girl stood silent. She was so surprised she did 
not know what to say. Nazar could have a home now. 
But would the man be kind to him? And would they ever 
see him again if he went to live on the desert? 

“Do you want to go, Nazar?” she asked gently. 

“Yes,” he replied. 

“I am willing,” she said to Khalif. “There is no home 
for him here, and he is too young to be left alone. Yes, it 
is better that he should go with you.” Khalif then spoke to 
Nazar. 

“Do you know the caravanserai of Mahmud? Yes, it is 
the big one near the river. Be there tomorrow at sunset.” 
Then he departed and Nazar and his sister waited in the 
darkness until Fatima’s work was finished and she joined 
them for their nightly family gathering. The girls were 
saddened by the thought of the separation. 

“Three whole days’ journey!” they said. “We may never 
see you again.” They had never been outside Baghdad 
and thought a three days’ journey would take one almost 
to the end of the world. A two days’ ride by motor car 
would indeed take one across the desert to the very edge 
of the Mediterranean Sea, but the shei\h traveled by 
camel and his tents were less than sixty miles from the 
city. 


50 




51 







Nazar’s last day in Baghdad passed rapidly. First he 
went down to the river to hunt for Habib and bid him 
good-bye. Then he went to the bazaar to buy farewell 
gifts for his sisters. With his few remaining coins, he 
bought a flimsy, pink celluloid bracelet for the elder sister. 
Fatima already had a pretty nose-ring set with a bright 
blue Persian turquoise. So for her he found a beautiful, 
heavy anklet. 

“Now she will be as beautiful as other girls,” he 
thought proudly. “She need not be ashamed of her bare 
ankles, for this anklet is as large and shiny as she could 
wish.” 

A priest singing the call to prayer from the minaret of 
the Friday Mosque recalled to him the fact that it was noon 
and time to eat. What should he do? Fatima’s anklet had 
taken his last coin. He went to the old man from whom 
he had bought dates the day before. 


52 


“Baba (old man),” he said piteously, “will you give me 
a few dates?” But the old man replied gruffly that he did 
not feed beggars. Nazar wandered on and asked another 
seller of sweets, but again he was refused. 

Then he saw his chance. A string of donkeys, laden 
with goat skins full of dates, had been weaving their way 
through the traffic. One donkey had been crowded against 
a carriage and knocked down. The goat skin bag slipped 
from its fastenings, rolled onto the street and burst open. 
In a flash half a dozen boys were after the spilled dates, 
Nazar among them. Luckily, he got hold of a handful. 
Someone had ground a dusty heel into the mass, but that 
made no difference. It was fruit, rich and sweet in spite 
of the filth and Nazar ate it with relish. Then he went to 
the garden where his sisters worked, gave them the pres¬ 
ents and bade them good-bye. 



53 



“Fee iman Allah (In the faith of God I leave you),” 
they told each other and parted. Nazar decided to find 
the caravanserai of Mahmud and wait there for Khalif. 
In one quiet little nook where a house wall jutted into the 
street, he was surprised to see his friend, Abdullah, the 
boy who threw the stone so skillfully. Abdullah was squat¬ 
ting on the ground playing with a sparrow. 

“What are you doing?” Nazar asked. 

“Playing with this sparrow. Just watch! I tied a string 
to its leg. Now I let it fly away and then jerk it back. It 
is great sport.” 

“Why don’t you clip its wings? Then it couldn’t fly. I 
have seen many boys clip pigeons’ wings.” 



55 







“But this is more fun. The bird thinks he is going to 
get away, until I jerk the string. Then it falls down and 
flutters about a while. It is great sport to tease him. Why 
don’t you catch a sparrow and —” 

A hand fell heavily on Abdullah’s shoulder. A passing 
foreigner had been watching this bit of cruelty. He seized 
the boy to scold him and reached over to rescue the poor 
bird. Abdullah screamed lustily and began to kick the well- 
dressed stranger. A crowd soon gathered and a police¬ 
man asked the cause of the trouble. 

“He was beating me! He was kicking me! He had me 
by the throat! He tried to steal my sparrow!” Abdullah 
lied to the officer. The policeman turned to the foreigner, 
who explained truthfully. 

“I saw this boy torturing the poor little bird and wanted 
only to make him stop his cruelty.” The crowd burst into 
laughter. 


56 


“Cruelty! It is not cruelty. A sparrow is so small it can¬ 
not feel. Everyone does it. Why, our grandfathers used to 
do it! Surely there is no harm in having a little fun with 
the bird.” 

The foreigner could not convince them that they were 
wrong. Even the policeman was against him. It was dif¬ 
ferent in Iraq, he said. Then he told the foreigner to give 
the boy enough money to buy two more birds and warned 
him not to molest children in the street again. As the 
crowd broke up, Nazar slipped away. He decided he did 
not like Abdullah quite so well, after all. 

The gate of the big caravanserai was open and Nazar 
went in. In the center of the great hollow square were 
camels lying down, waiting to be loaded. Everywhere 
were men busily tying bales of freight onto the sleepy 
camels. In the desert country it is better to travel by night 
and rest by day. Hence the bustle and confusion each day 
at sunset. 

Around the edges of the square were single-room com¬ 
partments which traders and travelers rented for sleep¬ 
ing quarters and storing motor cars. Merchants from the 
bazaar stored their wholesale purchases here until they 
could be transferred to the shops. 



57 



Nazar rode out the gate with the chief 


58 














Nazar watched the activity with great interest. He 
found Khalif and busied himself running errands for his 
new friend. At last all the camels were loaded, roused to 
standing position, and each one fastened to the next by a 
chain. On the first and last camels the driver hung a set 
of bells, four graduated bells, set inside each other. 

Nazar climbed onto his camel, hung on dizzily while 
the animal got to its feet, and rode out the gate with the 
chief. Khalif rode in a box-like seat protected by a canvas 
canopy. Nazar was shown how to sit on the burlap saddle 
and hold on with his knees. His perch was not uncom¬ 
fortable and he enjoyed riding through the crowded streets 
of the city. Now it was the donkeys and hamals that had 
to get out of his way! 

They had left the flashing river and turned their faces 
westward. Now they were passing a mosque and a priest 
stood in the minaret calling the Faithful to their prayers. 
His clear, strong voice rose above the noises of the street. 
The tinkling and booming of the camel bells were but an 
accompaniment to his song: 

La Allah illahlihah Mohammed Rassoulallah 






V 

THE GREEN SPOT 

Three long nights of travel with only the stars and a 
few faint tracks to guide them brought the caravan at last 
to the Green Spot, where the black tents of Khalif ibn 
Kathim could be seen in the faint light of early dawn. 
The spongy feet of the camel had broken the jolts of the 
ride; so Nazar had not been tired by the journey. Indeed, 
he could scarcely wait for his camel to crouch down on the 
ground so that he could climb off and become acquainted 
with his new home. 

Everyone had come out and gathered in front of the 
largest tent. Family and servants eagerly welcomed the 
master’s return. 

“Light to our eyes! May your arrival be good!” they 
said, crossing their arms on their breasts and bowing re¬ 
spectfully. 


60 


! Khali f returned their greetings. Then he saw that they 

had noticed Nazar and were looking at him with suspicion. 

“Nazar, come here/’ he beckoned to the newcomer. 
“This boy I have brought from Baghdad. He is an orphan 
and I am taking him as one of my family. Ali and Jasim, 
you came to my tents as orphans six years ago. I shall 
place Nazar in your care. Teach him the ways of the des¬ 
ert. He is from the Great City on the Tigris and knows 
only the ways of the city. Teach him to care for the sheep, 
that he may earn his keep and be of value to me. And you, 
Jasim, teach him to ride. You can cling to a camel like 
a flea. But I noticed that Nazar had some trouble with his 
camel. Was it not so, Nazar?” Khalif laughed heartily and 
went inside his tent. 

Nazar looked about him. The Green Spot was a low 
place between several low, rolling hills. The ground was 
only faintly green where the grass had been nibbled close 
by the flocks. A small clump of palm trees marked the lo¬ 
cation of a well. 

The people of the desert, the Bedouins, lived a wan¬ 
dering life and depended on these widely scattered wells 
and the five inches of rainfall each year for the water for 
themselves and their flocks. Perhaps the lack of water 
was one reason for their washing so seldom. 



61 



Huddled close to the precious water were a half-dozen 
black tents, so crude and flimsy that they could easily be 
moved from place to place as the supply of grass wore out. 
One tent was the master’s; two were his sons’; one was the 
women’s tent; one, the men’s; and one, the newest of all, 
was Ali’s. He had recently bought a wife and tent and 
now had his own home. Nazar looked at the people. They 
seemed about like all the Baghdadis he knew, except per¬ 
haps for a little less clothing and a little more sunburn. 

Some of the boys bore ugly scars that had been caused 
by playing with fire. Instead of skullcaps such as Nazar 
wore, most of these boys of the desert wore turbans or 
scarfs thrown loosely over their heads. 

The men began to unload the camels, while the women 
and children watched curiously to see what had been 
brought from the Great City. It did not take long. The 
chief had taken to the city a big load of raw wool, spun 
yarn, and handwoven woolen cloth. He had brought back 
a small load—bags of coffee, cones of sugar, salt blocks, 
and a bolt of cotton cloth. People lived simply on the des¬ 
ert and their needs were few. 


62 




The men began to unload the camels 


63 




“Come with me, Nazar,” said Ali, the orphan who had 
lived with Khalif for six years. “It is already late and I 
must take the sheep out to pasture.” 

Ali gathered his flock together and started toward the 
hills. As the two boys walked along, Nazar asked many 
questions and Ali told him about the life of a shepherd. 

“You have to take the sheep out at dawn and lead them 
to pasture. Since you are new, the master will probably 
give you only fifty to tend. I have been with him six years 
and I can now tend a flock of five hundred. All day you 
have to watch so that none of them wanders or is stolen. 
At sundown you will lead them to water and then bring 
them home. It is the same every day.” 

“And do you receive no wages?” 

“Oh, yes! The master pays well. Every six months he 
will give you seven lambs per hundred, and your food and 
clothing, too.” 

Looking at Ali’s scant and tattered garments, Nazar 
wondered how many years it had been since the shepherd 
had received any new clothes. Ali continued to speak of 
the flock. 


64 




Ali told him about the life of a shepherd 


65 





“Of this large flock, many are mine. In the last lamb¬ 
ing season the master gave me thirty. My own little flocks 
had lambs, too, for I breed them carefully. And it is the 
custom for the master to feed the sheep and cattle of his 
servants’ flocks. I should have had a larger flock of my 
own, but I exchanged some of the sheep and goats for a 
cow and donkey. Some of them I sold to buy a wife and 
tent. Last summer the master put me on three acres of 
land. So I shall not work as his shepherd after you are 
trained. I shall be busy with my own flock and land.” 

“And where did you get your tent, Ali? I see no shops 
here.” Nazar was puzzled. 

Ali laughed. “The women wove it of goat’s hair. When 
you look through it toward the sky, you think it is flimsy 
and that the little holes will let the rain come through. 
But it is not so; the goat’s hair cloth sheds water. And 
then, it seldom rains, anyway. The worst thing is the sand¬ 
storms. Sometimes the winter winds are very cold. Then 
it is that we wear our warm brown abas , which the 
women weave from camel’s hair. Yes, you have much to 
learn.” 


66 


Nazar learned one very strange thing that day. At noon 
the boys sat down on a large rock to eat their lunch of 
coarse barley bread and dates. Then Ali stood up, went 
over to a little white goat, and led it back toward the rock. 

“Now, Nazar,” he said, “I will show you how to finish 
your lunch.” Ali lay down underneath the goat, sucked at 
its teat, and had a refreshing drink of warm milk. Then 
Nazar lay down, but try as hard as he might, he could not 
get a drop. 

“It is a good trick, anyway,” said he, “and no one would 
be very likely to steal your lunch.” Then he told Ali how 
he had had his own lunch stolen the first day he worked in 
the bazaar. 

Ali was interested in Nazar’s tale and was amazed 
at the things he told. He had never seen a shop, had never 
seen a city, a river, a motor car nor a train. He was very 
curious to know about them. He had, however, seen the 
airplane that crossed the desert twice a week. 

That night in the men’s tent Nazar again told his des¬ 
ert friends about life in the city. They listened eagerly as 
he described the great river Tigris and could not understand 
why such a great amount of water did not wash away the 
land 



67 


“We have heard of another river west of us, the Euphra¬ 
tes it is called, but we have never seen it. A traveler told 
us of it once,” an old man spoke up. Then Nazar listened 
to their tales of desert life and at last fell asleep where he 
sat. When he tumbled over in a heap on the ground, some¬ 
one threw a camel’s hair robe over him and he lay there un¬ 
til morning. 

Day after day Nazar went with Ali as he led the sheep 
out at dawn and brought them back at nightfall. Finally 
the day arrived when Nazar was allowed to take the flock 
out alone. Jasim had been given part of the flock to tend 
and Ali had taken out his own sheep and goats. There re¬ 
mained about fifty sheep which Nazar led to the hills at 
sunrise. 



68 


VI 

NAZAR THE SHEPHERD 

Nazar sat on a rock in the late afternoon sunshine 
counting his sheep. He always counted the sheep to be 
sure they were all there before he started homeward. 

“Forty-seven, forty-eight, forty-nine,” again and again 
he counted. One sheep was missing. Which one was it? 
He looked over the flock anxiously. Since he had been 
alone, he had named every sheep and knew each one from 
all the others. 


69 



“It is old Waggle-tail,” he discovered. “Where can she 
be?” Then he began to hunt along the hillside, behind the 
rocks, in the caves. Down the steep, rocky slope of the 
other side of the hill he finally found her with a tiny black 
lamb. 

“M ashallah! This is a fine place to have your baby!” he 
said to the old mother sheep. “I can carry your lamb in my 
cloak, but I don’t know how I can ever drag you over the 
steep rocks.” 

With much pushing and pulling he got the fat old sheep 
to the top of the hill. In the few months he had lived on the 
desert, his feet had become hard as iron from walking on 
the hot sand. But these rocks were sharp and jagged and 
he hurt one foot badly. Tearing a piece off his turban, he 
bound his foot and went back for the little black lamb. It 
was soft and warm and he held it carefully in his robe as 
he climbed up the hill. 


70 


“Now, old Waggle-tail! You can start for home,” Nazar 
said and called the rest of the sheep. Among the flock were 
several new little lambs and they ran along playfully be¬ 
side the older sheep. Nazar led them all to water and 
brought them to the tents just as the last bit of the big red 
sun disappeared behind the purple hills. 

Nazar limped to the men’s tent. 

“Baba!" he said to a very old man, “I have cut my foot. 
What can you do for it?” Nazar sat down and unfastened 
the rag. 

“Bah! bah!” the old man said. “That must be burned 
with a hot iron.” He hunted an old saddlebag and brought 
out a piece of iron. This he heated in the embers of a 
dung fire and then applied it to the cut. Nazar screamed 
with pain. The old man smiled. 

“Insh’allah, it will get better,” he said. “A good burn¬ 
ing will cure anything from a cut or sprain to a pain in 
your side.” 

Nazar wanted to tell him that he thought drinking the 
ink-water from a prayer was a better remedy, but he was 
just a little afraid of the old man. So he said nothing. 



71 



His foot was still sore next morning; so another 
small boy, Ibrahim, went with him to help watch the 
sheep. Ibrahim was full of mischief and promised Nazar 
that they should have fun that day. At dawn the boys led 
the flock to a new slope where there was plenty of grass. 
Then they sat down to play. 

Ibrahim had a set of small reed pipes. He showed 
Nazar how to make a set and showed him how to play on 
the pipes. The music was very strange. Many times later 
when Nazar was alone all day, he played on his pipes. 
Sometimes he tried to play the same tunes he had heard 
other boys play. Sometimes he tried to make new tunes. 

The sheep wandered over the hillside, but the boys paid 
no attention. They were throwing stones and had forgot¬ 
ten about their work. Nazar showed Ibrahim the trick 
Abdullah had taught him in Baghdad. They had great 
fun that afternoon. At sunset Nazar counted his sheep. 


72 



Sometimes he tvied to play the same tunes he had heard other 
boys play 


73 






Once more a sheep was missing. The boys looked every¬ 
where, but the sheep could not be found. They became 
frightened, for they knew they had not been watching the 
flock. When the sheep were led back to the tents, Khalif 
knew that one was gone. 

“Nazar,” he said sharply, “what has happened? One 
sheep is gone.” 

“Yes, master,” replied Nazar, “It is lost. I hunted a long 
time, but I couldn’t find any trace of it.” 

“Were you alone today?” 

“No, Ibrahim was with me.” 

“That is always the way! When two boys are together, 
they play and forget the flock. Then the sheep can’t find 
enough grass and go hungry or else some of them wander 
and become lost. Hereafter, you are to go out alone. Never 
take a companion with you. And now, do you know the 
rule? Whenever you lose one of my sheep, you must pay 
with two of yours. Since you have been with me, you 
have earned three lambs. When I take out two, that will 
leave you just one for your six months’ work. You will 
not get rich very fast at that rate.” 


74 


“Please, master,” Nazar spoke timidly, “may I have the 
new little lamb that I brought home last night?” 

“What! A black sheep?” Khalif asked in surprise. “A 
white sheep is more valuable for its wool than a black one. 
Did you not know that?” 

“Yes, master, but I should like to have old Waggle-tail’s 
baby,” Nazar said. He would not tell the man that he 
wanted the little black lamb because it snuggled its nose 
down into the curve of his arm as he carried it home. Kha¬ 
lif might have laughed at him. 

He was indeed happy that his master let him have the 
lamb and he branded it with his own mark. The little 
black lamb was the beginning of Nazar’s flock. In the 
years to come, he would add many more lambs until his 
flock would number nearly a hundred. And he was al¬ 
ways very careful not to let the sheep wander and be¬ 
come lost. 

One day he sat on a rock playing a tune on his pipes. 
The sheep were quietly grazing nearby. Suddenly they 
seemed to become frightened. Scampering away from the 
rocks, they gathered around Nazar for protection. The 
boy watched closely. He saw a movement behind the rock 
and then a strange face. The stranger looked at the young 
boy for a moment and then swiftly fled. 



75 



Nazar fingered the dagger in his girdle. It was his only 
weapon. He hoped the man would not come back. The 
rest of the day he kept the sheep near him and would not 
let them go near the rocks. When he led them home at 
sunset, he was relieved to find that none had been stolen. 

As Nazar sat on the floor of the tent eating his supper 
of coarse barley bread, camel’s flesh, dates, and sour goat’s 
milk, he told the men about the stranger. 

“I think he would have stolen some of the sheep, but he 
saw my sharp dagger and fled. I frightened him away,” 
Nazar finished proudly. 

“You frightened him! Mashallah, what a big man you 
are!” they laughed at him. “Don’t you know there is honor 
among thieves? They never steal sheep from a little boy. 
Now if it had been Jasim here, they might have carried 
off the whole flock and given him an ugly fight besides. 
Your dagger is only to kill a sheep that is unwell, so we 
can have a feast of mutton. You are not apt to need it to 
protect yourself.” 


76 


In spite of what the older men had said, Nazar was 
uneasy and often feared that the thief might come back. 
But he was never bothered again and gradually gave up 
his close watch. 

During the long, lonely days he learned to make string 
and waistbands from the raw sheep’s wool. He even made 
other curious things from the bits of wool that he pulled off 
the cactus plants and camel-thorn. Many times he thought 
of his sisters and friends in Baghdad and wished that he 
might see dear Fatima again. 

Once he was poking the ground at his feet and dug 
up a silver coin, thin and uneven and very dark. On it 
was stamped a face with a heavy beard and a strange, 
tall headdress. 



77 




“I have never seen a turban like that,” thought Nazar. 
“This coin doesn’t look like the silver anna the foreign 
lady gave me. I wonder what it is.” He showed it to Jasim 
that night. Jasim was cutting his hair (or rather, shav¬ 
ing his whole head in the strict Moslem style), and had 
been asking him about his flock. He took the coin 
and looked at it carefully. 

“I saw some money one time, but I don’t remember 
whether it looked like this,” he said finally. “Khalif knows 
about money. Show it to him.” 

Nazar then told him of the silver anna and how the 
prayer had cured Fatima. Jasim became interested. 

“How old is your sister? Is she pretty? Does she have 
a sharp temper? Is she strong?” Jasim wanted to know 
a great deal about Fatima. Then he explained to Nazar. 

“Next year I shall be ready to marry,” he said. “I have 
been with Khalif nearly seven years. I am a man now— 
see my fine black moustache—and I want to have my 
own tent like Ali. The shei\h has promised to put me on 
the land next spring. I have a little flock of my own and 
can afford to buy a wife and tent. What do you say 
Nazar? Do you think I am fine enough to have a citv 
wife?” J 


78 


Nazar was excited at the thought of having his sister 
near him. That night Jasim had a long talk with the 
shei\h, which he repeated later to his little friend. Khalif 
would take a caravan load of camel’s hair and wool to 
Baghdad in a few months. Nazar should go with him and 
go to his sisters. If both the elder sister and Fatima were 
willing, Khalif would bring Fatima back as a bride for 
Jasim. 

Now indeed was Nazar happy. He would have a visit 
to the city. But he would return with the shei\h, for he 
had learned to love the desert life. Fatima would return 
with him and he could always be near this favorite sister. 
Only one thought came to trouble him. 

“But what will become of baby Waggle-tail while I am 
gone? Khalif will not let me take him with me to Baghdad, 
and I am afraid someone might steal him if careless Ibra¬ 
him tends my flock. Maybe Jasim will tend him while I 
am bringing back Fatima.” 







With that thought he was happy and began to plan 
what places he should visit when he returned to Baghdad 
—the broad river, and perhaps see Habib playing with 
boats; the noisy copper bazaar; the sociable coffee shops; 
the beautiful Friday Mosque, and the old man who sold 
sweets by the door; and the avenue Sinak, where he might 
catch one last glimpse of the foreign woman who had been 
kind to him in the days of his life in Baghdad. 



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